


supermarket flowers

by horizsan



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Angst, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Terminal Illness, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, No Sexual Content, Wakes & Funerals, based off of/inspired by supermarket flowers by ed sheeran, i promise that's the only song of his i listen to, if i missed any warnings lmk in the comments, in case you didn't catch it earlier, most of the characters other than yunho only make brief cameos, or in dms on either tumblr or instagram (written in the beginning notes), san is the sweetest, the friend everyone needs, yes i know :pensive:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:41:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28095600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horizsan/pseuds/horizsan
Summary: But it’ll be different now, won’t it? Now that Mingi isn’t a part of their equation anymore, now that that balance has been thrown off. They used to have a perfect solar system, eight perfect planets orbiting around the same beautiful sun, but now...one of those planets is gone, never to return, no matter how much Yunho closes his eyes and wishes on every shooting star and fallen eyelash that he will.(Or: Mingi is gone, and Yunho is the one who seems to be taking it the hardest.)
Relationships: Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 32





	supermarket flowers

**Author's Note:**

> ahaha...hello! 'tis i! you know how i said i was gonna post an svt halloween special and then i didn't do that? yea, let's just...sweep that under the rug ahaha :))))) anyways i'm like...back!!!! well...briefly....i'm posting this and then i'll probably disappear again for a while but that's okay!!! senior year and the stress of college apps (which i still have not finished ahaha oopsies) has been beating me into the ground, so that's fun! i also had a brief period of time where i decided i was gonna stop writing fic, but i ended up changing my mind cause it makes me happy and it's a reprieve from the absolute hell that is writing 105...so yea!!!
> 
> anyways!!!! here are some content warnings for this: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH (more implied/referenced, not described, but still), implied/referenced terminal illness, lots of angst, lots of grieving, funeral scene, and uhh i think that's p much it. IF I MISSED ANY!!!! dm me on my tumblr (@horisans) or my instagram (@hori.sans) and i will add it for you as soon as i see the message! (that reminds me, i should probably log in to both of those accounts, huh)
> 
> this was more of a reflective piece/character study, but i hope those of you who choose to read it like it regardless! also this is unbetaed because i haven't posted in forever and i'm impatient, and i'll be honest, i barely proofread, and barely edited, so if there are any typos/grammatical errors or the writing doesn't flow nicely in places, i am so sorry...
> 
> \+ abby <3

The sound of crinkling plastic wrap echoes through the empty room as Yunho picks up the bouquet of cheap flowers that rests on the windowsill, the ones San had brought from the supermarket just down the road. It’s too loud. The utter silence of the room is eerie, and weighs entirely too heavily on Yunho’s shoulders. The room should be filled with Mingi’s raunchy laughter at jokes that aren’t even funny, not the sound of Yunho’s fingers against the plastic wrapped around a half-dead bouquet of yellow roses and of San’s sneakers brushing against the tile floor as he awkwardly shuffles his feet, just as lost as to what to say as Yunho is. Neither of them say anything, because, really, what is there to say? “I’m sorry”? Like it’s either of their faults? No.

The flowers get tucked into the tiny plastic grocery bag Seonghwa is standing by the door holding in shaky hands, meant to hold the trash that’s built up in the room over the week they’d spent every night here, making the most of the visiting hours they were allowed. Seonghwa swallows hard, audibly, Hongjoong at his side gently squeezes his arm, a web of tear tracks shining on both their cheeks, and the silence drags on.

In the corner of his eye, Yunho catches sight of a periwinkle blue teacup with daisies painted on its porcelain surface standing on the counter near the sink, which had belonged to Yeosang, he’s pretty sure. He’s the only one out of the eight of them who ever took much of a liking to tea. He picks it up and tosses the day-old Earl Grey into the sink, watching it swirl down the drain with a faint gurgling sound.

Wooyoung’s footsteps are tentative as he crosses the room to stand at Yunho’s side, holding out a familiar mess of a celery green binder, the front cover half ripped off and photos sticking out from all sides in just the way they weren’t supposed to, and no, it wasn’t neat, but by God, it was so undoubtedly  _ them _ . The photo album. The one Jongho had compiled over the many years that the eight of them had been a constant in one another’s lives (he’s a photographer, so it always made sense that he was the one who took on the job). Seonghwa had always half-heartedly complained about how messy and disorganized it looked, but they all knew he wouldn’t really change a thing about it for the world.

The memories that lie within that disheveled binder are just as much of a mess as the album itself, so it’s fitting, Yunho supposes. Everything, from the photo of all of them smiling like idiots with the black suit jackets of their tuxedos coated in pure white frosting and chunks of angel food cake at Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s wedding two years ago, to the one of Yeosang and Jongho laughing huddled under blankets in the trunk of San’s car when the three of them along with Mingi had tried to sneak into a drive-in movie theater for a discounted price and make it look like there were only two of them in the vehicle way back when they were seniors in high school. It’s just how they are. It’s how they’ve always been, and it’s probably how they’ll always be. And that’s totally fine by them.

But it’ll be different now, won’t it? Now that Mingi isn’t a part of their equation anymore, now that that balance has been thrown off. They used to have a perfect solar system, eight perfect planets orbiting around the same beautiful sun, but now...one of those planets is gone, never to return, no matter how much Yunho closes his eyes and wishes on every shooting star and fallen eyelash that he will.

Wooyoung’s voice draws Yunho out of his thoughts back into the too-quiet hospital room, as he pokes Yunho’s arm with a gentle finger, cocking a head covered in a swath of long black hair to one side and asking, “Do you want to take this?”

Yunho swears he gets whiplash at the utterance of the question even though he doesn’t move, and his voice is weaker than he expects it to be as he replies with another question. “Why me? I would think one of you guys would want to have it.”

Wooyoung shakes his head, and says, “No. Jongho said he wants you to have it. He’s been its keeper for years, and he told me that since it’s likely we won’t be adding to it anymore, you should be the one to hold it now.” His eyes are dark, shining with a fresh set of tears that well up behind them, just barely being held back from spilling over. He holds the binder out again, placing it gently in Yunho’s half-outstretched hands. Yunho almost drops it, and he knows it’s all in his head, but it feels like the binder is scalding hot, melting his hands away into molten magma and leftover ash.

The tips of his fingers run over the cover, tracing Seonghwa’s neat calligraphy that reads  _ Us: From A To Z, Eternal _ . Eternal. So much for that. Yunho winces at the word, turning the album over so the blank back cover is facing upwards as he tucks it into his black canvas bag. He scans the room with his gaze one last time, his eyes running across the planes of Yeosang’s thin arms wrapped around more stuffed animals than he can probably hold and Jongho’s hands holding a thick stack of get well cards, asking Yeosang under his breath if he’s sure he doesn’t need some help with those. His eyes land on a cluster of plastic cups on the side table next to the empty bed, most of which are void of any liquid, but a couple of them still hold a few sips of ginger beer. If he concentrates, Yunho can feel the burning sensation of the fiery soda sliding down his throat. It had always been Mingi’s favorite.

Yunho picks up the three that still have liquid in them and dumps the carbonated reminder down the sink, tossing the empty cups into Seonghwa’s outstretched bag. They all take a collective final look around the room, and when Yunho swallows back the pitiful lump in his throat, he knows the others are doing the same. When Yunho closes the door behind them, the click feels like a finale, like saying goodbye to something that’s gone for good, never to slink its way back into all your cracks and crevices, never to bleed into every nook and cranny of your soul ever again. A single tear slides down his cheek, and he lets it. (When he was a child, his father had always told him never to cry when he was feeling down, that men didn’t cry, for it was a show of weakness, but Yunho is far past the point of caring. Who gives a fuck if it’s a show of weakness? He’s certainly feeling pretty weak right about now.)

* * *

He’d thought about this day a lot when they were younger, actually. Thought about what he would do if it happened, thought about what it would feel like to lose his comfort person, his best friend, the one person he loved and trusted more than any other (no offense, San). And now that it’s here, he’s realizing that nothing his imagination came up with back then could ever compare to the sheer unbridled pain ripping through his heart now that it's actually happening.

* * *

He’s standing in the apartment they used to share, and it feels so big, blank and empty now without Mingi to fill it up with his presence and splash colorful mirth all over the walls. He’s been walking around the apartment all day, Hongjoong and Wooyoung roaming with him, putting most of Mingi’s things in boxes that he’s not sure he’ll ever have the heart to get rid of. Seonghwa had always been a major advocate for the Marie Kondo method when it came to organization, telling Yunho, “If it doesn’t bring you joy, thank it for its service and let it go.” But this is different.

Some of these things bring him joy, and sure, it’s tainted with bittersweet grief now and pushes unwanted memories to the surface like ripping a bandage off of a wound that wasn’t quite finished bleeding yet, but it’s still joy underneath all of that. For example, the object he’s looking at now. Mingi’s favorite jacket, mostly purple, with hints of orange and black, and he’d always liked it when Yunho stole it from his side of their shared closet (they didn’t  _ really _ have sides anymore, it’d all just merged together into a single conglomerate at some point) and wore it, always used to say it looked better on Yunho than on him.

Yunho holds the jacket up to his nose, burying his face in the fabric and inhaling Mingi’s scent, and it brings a fresh set of tears to his eyes again. He knows he’ll never ever ever have the heart to shove this jacket in a box and ship it off to someone else, who he knows will never love and cherish it the way he will. He knows that. Things don’t need to be written law to be true.

* * *

The slam of the metal door to the storage container closing on the mountain of cardboard boxes filled to the brim with everything that’s left of Mingi feels like a slap to the face, and when Yunho turns the key to lock it, it feels like his heart tightens its grip on itself, crushing it to nothing more than dust inside his chest. He knows he’ll never have the heart to actually get rid of all this stuff, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever have the heart to actually come back to the storage container to look at the contents of the boxes again either, but he can entertain the thought if nothing else.

* * *

Yunho casts a forlorn glance at the closed alabaster casket being lowered into the ground by four men Yunho’s never met before, wincing and looking away after a split second, because he knows he shouldn’t have trusted himself to look. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees San look at him, that same familiar warmth that’s always sunk deep into his eyes palpable in his gaze, washing over Yunho like ocean waves heated by the sun.

San’s voice is soft, an air of patience to it, as he says, “You know, just because you can’t see him doesn’t mean he’s not there.”

“With all due respect, buddy, what the fuck are you talking about? ...You’re talking nonsense, San, he’s gone. He’s in that fucking casket right there, and I know we all thought we had all the time in the world to hear him laugh, but we didn’t, and now he’s fucking gone, and there’s nothing we can do about it.” His voice breaks at the last word, and he bows his head, feeling hot tears prick at the inner corners of his eyes with that burning sensation, squinting his eyes shut tight against the stream. He knows he’d been a little harsh just then, but there’s a part of him that thinks it was well deserved.  _ How are they all acting so nonchalant about this, like they just don’t care? _ He wants to punch himself for that thought, because he knows deep down inside somewhere that they do care, and that they’re all just as devastated as him, and that they’re all trying their hardest to keep it together for  _ his fucking sake _ .

  
San leans closer to Yunho, tilting his head to look up into Yunho’s eyes underneath his bowed head. “Mingi? Come on, Yunho, have a little faith. Nothing short of God himself could keep him truly away from you. Actually, even  _ God _ probably couldn’t. Mingi would just pout at him, and God would go, ‘What am I gonna do, say no?’, and let Mingi do whatever the fuck he wants.” San lays a gentle hand over Yunho’s heart, and continues, his voice softening, even more warmth seeping into the sound and tinging its edges with a golden glow. “He’ll always be right here. No matter where his physical form may be, his soul is always right here, wrapped together with yours.  _ Always _ .”

**Author's Note:**

> to those of you who have made it this far, thank you!!! thank you so much for giving my writing a chance, and if you wanna give me a nice little boost of serotonin and let me know i'm not just shoving content out into the void, please feel free to leave a kudos/comment if you feel so inclined!!! also!!!! have an amazing day/night, make sure you're drinking plenty of water, eat something if you haven't, and make sure you are wearing a mask and washing your hands often!!! ily <3


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